122 A MONOGRAPH OF THE PHEASANTS 



ground of Impeyan Pheasants I once found a number of the hard elytra of a large 

 species of beetle, indicating that the birds had devoured the bodies of these insects. 

 When we consider the hundreds of these birds shot every year by sportsmen it 

 seems a pity that no one has ever taken the trouble to examine the crops and so 

 add to our exact knowledge of this splendid pheasant. 



In winter, when the snow lies upon the ground, or when the Impeyans are low 

 down among the oak forests, or, again, when their summer haunts lie within the fir 

 zone, the birds roost at night up among the branches. Some dense clump of old 

 trees may form a favourite perch, to which a number of birds will repair night 

 after night. When such a place is known it is not difficult to hide and observe 

 their approach, and more than once, just at dusk, I have stolen up beneath a chestnut 

 and discovered the big round forms upon the branches overhead. All which I could 

 see distinctly were cocks, but were roosting alone, each bird by itself, the social spirit 

 being too lax to exact closer intimacy. Young birds perch, presumably, with their 

 mother, as they are closely associated throughout the early stages of life, and may 

 remain together until autumn or even early spring. 



One observer told me of seven birds, all in female plumage, which in the autumn 

 roosted regularly in a clump of rhododendrons, in three groups of two, two and three 

 respectively, doubtless three hens and the young birds of the year. 



When, however, the Impeyans make their summer home, as many do, at shrub line 

 or even among the alpine meadows, many of their more usual habits become modified 

 in accordance with their surroundings. The only note I can find on their sleeping 

 habits in such places is that they " will often roost on the ground in some steep, rocky 

 spot." Although I have searched very carefully I have never found Impeyans roosting 

 thus, but there is no reason why they should not do so, as both blood partridge and 

 snow cocks have a similar habit. Whenever I have studied Impeyans in open rocky 

 country, both in Nepal and Garhwal, I have found that they invariably choose the 

 protected— south or south-east — side of some steep cliff or outjutting mass of rugged 

 boulders, and there roost in the niches well up on the precipitous face. 



One such location I shall never forget. From the foot of the rock a meadow of 

 coarse grass and dead lily stalks stretched steeply downward to a jumping-off place 

 where a fault in the geological formation had cut a deep gash in the ground. Beyond 

 this, the first valley stretched blue and mistily far down and across to the opposite 

 mountain covered with dark and dense forest. Beyond lay three more mountain chains, 

 their rolling curves intersecting, becoming more purple and ethereal as they stretched 

 on into the distance. From the face of the cliff behind grew straggling graceful tufts 

 of alpine grass, diminutive rhododendrons gnarled and rugged as the uppermost pine- 

 lets on Fuji. By climbing from crevice to crevice a few yards upward, a narrow shelf of 

 rock not more than a foot wide, but winding for twenty feet along the cliff, was reached. 

 It fook but a glance to show that several birds had for some time made this their 

 roosting place, and a number of feathers of a female or immature cock left no doubt 

 as to the species. 



But I wanted more proof, and so I began my afternoon watch on the flat top of 

 a distant boulder— a huge, jagged affair as big as a dak bungalow, wonderfully lichened 

 and mossed, and eaten by frost and rain into a marvel of frescoing and deeper etching. 



